My Name is Mercy
by Crocodile Machine
Summary: This is the story of Mercy, raised by Erik in the world below that he created and how she finds love, hopefully. Erik isn't going to take to well to the betrayal shown him by his daughter... Rated for future content.


My Name is Mercy

Evelyn Isaacs

Prologue: IT

Disclaimer: I do not own the Original Phantom of the Opera story or original characters such as Raoul, Christine, and Erik. I do, however, own Landin, Mercy, Helena, and characters to appear later.

**First Person Erik POV**

Setting: Erik's lair, October 1882

"_To the Angel of Music,  
_

_I have given this child life. Neither I nor my husband can afford to care for it. You are the only one we can give it to._

_I have refused to look at it. Raoul has also refused. _

_I cannot bear to be reminded of you every time I would see it, if I were to keep it. _

_You are the only being that can care for it, given your circumstances._

_Whatever happens to it, I wash my hands of it. The child is yours to do with as you please. I can't care about it. Raoul agrees. You must father this child._

_I'm moving to America soon. Don't try to find me or bring the child back to me, I won't be there. I wouldn't take it if I were._

_Goodbye, Erik….  
Keep your fond memories._

_I can't stand them anymore._

_Sincerely,_

_Christine de Chagny"_

How could she do this to me? I don't want to care for a child! I haven't the time! A child requires attention, education, space to run and play, and worse – they require love. I cannot attend to a child. I could educate one. But where would I let the child live? And how could I ever have love for a child? I had given it all to her….

Nonetheless, I pick up the old basket left at the entrance to my tunnel. I had built it specifically for her. I told her that if she ever wanted to come back to me, it was there… I had set up an alarm of sorts to alert me should anyone open the passage. She did come back once, in early December of 1881, two months after I revealed myself to her. We spent some time alone, and she stayed with me that night. Before I could get her to stay forever, she had an attack of conscience and I had to take her Outside. I haven't seen her since.

I awoke sometime this morning to the sound of the waltz I had rigged to play and ran through the length of the tunnel. At the end, I expect to find her. Yet, all I get is a letter and a baby wearing nothing but a blanket in a basket.

A child. Wonderful. I hated my childhood. With a creature like me as a Father, this child would probably grow up hating me.

I contemplate leaving the child in an orphanage. Surely Landin could take it there. He's always been very compliant to do ask I ask. If he and his wife Helena hadn't been having troubles with that baby boy of his lately I'd ask him to take the child himself! And besides, I can hardly sew clothing for an infant, however would I go about that? Risk bloodying up these fingers with a needle, I don't think so!

I sigh as I carry the basket to my sitting room and place it in the middle of the floor on a Persian rug. I sit down in one of my once feather-soft arm chairs. I stare at the basket for God only knows how long! Is it a boy or a girl? What color hair does it have? Is it black like me, brown like her, or blonde, like him? Is the child his? Christine's letter never said…. If I were to care for it, I'd always be haunted with the thought that it might not be my child… That I might be raising his spawn… but all the same, the child did come from Christine…

So engrossed in my thoughts am I that I hardly notice Landin enter the room. That's right, it's Thursday. He always comes on Mondays and Thursdays with fresh food and any other materials I need.

"Bonjour, Erik! How are we faring today?"

"Direct your eyes toward the center of the room."

"A basket, how lovely. Did you make it yourself?"

"No, old man, I did not. It was left at the tunnel's entrance. Can you guess what's in it, or are you too senile for your age to comprehend?"

"Well, judging by the constant noises of stifled crying that have been emanating from it for the past few minutes, I'm willing to assume that it's a child, Erik."

I stare after him as he puts the shopping away in my pantry. He busies himself with re-arranging the items in a manner more suitable to his obsessive desires and I grow frustrated.

"Well!"

He doesn't even spare me a glance and keeps tidying up the place.

"Well what?"

"Well, what do I do with it?" I grow exasperated and stand up sharply. "It's a child; you know I can't comprehend a child!"

"First of all, I suggest you feed it."

"If you think for one instant that I - -"

"No, you ninny! Here!" He shuffles over to me and hands me a bottle of milk. "Feed the child with that, alright? Remember, it's a child so you can't just pour the whole thing down his throat. - - her throat. Um, which is it?"

"I don't know."

"Oh, for goodness' sake! Please tell me you can identify a girl from a boy!"

"Of course I can! You make it seem like I know absolutely nothing about children!"

"Ah, but didn't you just tell me that you can't comprehend a child? And I quote you on that, too."

"Landin… I'm sorry. Will you please assist me with it?"

"Were you told if this child was yours?"

"No, Christine left that little detail out. She just told me that responsibility of the child now passed to my hands. I was actually thinking you might take it to an orphanage for me."

"I most certainly will not!"

"Oh, but why? I can't raise it! Please take it away from me!"

"I cannot do that, Erik!"

"Why not?"

"I already lost one child to adopted parents and I'll not let you give this one away! I'll not let you do to this child what I have done to mine!"

A heavy silence hangs over our heads. How do I respond to that? All I can think to do is apologize. I knew how much Landin wanted that child. For years, he and Helena had tried for a child, and they'd begun to think Helena was infertile. I'd even tried giving her medicines and potions in hopes that she might bear a child for Landin, hopefully a son. Then by a miracle, she did! She gave him a healthy baby boy in 1880. That was the year I finished building the house beneath my lair. Landin and I would joke, saying that his son, whom they'd named Thomas Christopher Yieré, was the price paid to him for his assistance in the construction of that paradise home that I'd been building for her.

Landin had brought Helena to me when she went into labor. All the doctors had said that the child would probably be stillborn and none wanted to take her on as a patient. They said that either the mother or the child, if not both, would die. However, I delivered the child safely and when I saw that look on Landin's face, I knew he would die right then and there for him. Thomas soon became his whole life.

Having run into issues with rent, I am now able to see that he took little Thomas to an orphanage. Thomas could have been not even three years old!  
"Erik, if you leave this child alone, you will regret it forever. I saw my Thomas get adopted three nights ago, and I will follow him every chance I get because I can never truly let my boy go. You'll be the same. This child will tear at your heart until you can no longer bear it."

I watch as he kneels by the basket and opens it. A soft smile spreads over his face as he picks the child up. He examines her quickly and kisses her on the forehead. Is that normal? If I take it as my own, is that how I should treat it?

"Erik, forget biology. Forget logic. This is your child, Erik. This is your daughter. She is yours. I'll assist you with her how I can."

I stare apprehensively at Landin as he steps closer to me, cradling the baby.

I know that if I so much as hold it, I will never let her go. I'll have to hold her forever.

Do I want to be tied forever to it?

Without caring what my head is saying, my hands reach out and take the bundle from Landin. I stare at her face. She has Christine's eyes, and her little hair is dark. It's hard to say if it's black like mine. And her face… Oh, good God, her face!

Her face…

It's unmarred… It's clean and pure! It's so beautiful that it hurts me to look at her.

I sit back down and press her tightly to my chest. I cannot let her go, but at the same time I want to throw her away! It hurts that this child may have come from me but is still so perfect!

"Oh, Lord, if you can hear me, have mercy on me! Have mercy!"

I feel Landin's hand lightly, but reassuringly on my shoulder. He nods down to the girl and says, "I believe he has, Erik. I believe he has given you Mercy."

"Mercy…."

Landin wrote out lists of what I would need to do for her. He showed me how to make a diaper out of cloth and how I should properly feed her. He told me to play with her, and to talk to her. He said she had to sleep a lot and to try to calm her when she cries. When he left, I put her on my bed and watched her stare back at me.

"What?"

I reached out and touched her perfectly smooth face.

"We're going to need to get you a mask for that… but not just yet…."

I stare at her for a while longer, and then tell her to go to sleep. She stares back at me as though I'd forgotten something.

"What? Do you want me to sing for you? Fine. I'll sing for you."  
I stand up and walk to a chest in the corner of my room. I start singing a song I once wrote for Christine when she was younger.

_Li terrò sempre_

_qui nel mio cuore_

_qualunque cosa le distanze_

_li mantengano diversi._

_Gridi sulla mia stretta _

_della spalla velocemente a me, amore,_

_io li amerà per sempre._

As I sing I pull a blanket from the chest and shake it out. It's been kept there for a very long time. It's one of the few things I took from Mother's house after she died. I walk to my daughter - - my daughter - - and place it over her, _"io li amerá_…." I kiss her forehead and see that she is asleep. "_Per sempre_," I finish. I lay down next to her and fall asleep staring at her.

This is my daughter.

I thank God.

Finally, He has given me Mercy, and I'll never let her go!

**End Prologue**

_A/N Hey, I crave reviews! Tell me what you think! Flamers ARE welcome, just be honest and tell me what's on your mind. Does it show promise or does it bite the dust?  
Thanks for giving it the time of day!  
REVIEW MY STORY!_


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